A mys­tery day

Anglers Mail - - 2. 1. 4. 3. -

IT WAS mid-Oc­to­ber, bliss­fully warm. There was a light south-west­erly, glimpses of sun through hazy cloud and I thought last gasp tench­ing could prove fan­tas­tic.

Sev­eral of the boys were up, all crack­ing tench an­glers, and we didn’t get a sin­gle, soli­tary bite. There wasn’t a bub­ble, a rolling fish, noth­ing.

There are times when you are com­pletely and ut­terly dumb­founded by fish.

There was no ob­vi­ous ex­pla­na­tion for our com­plete fail­ure, but then again per­haps that is how it should be.

Fish­ing is about jeop­ardy. You’ve got to have the bad days if you’re go­ing to ap­pre­ci­ate the good ones.

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